Help Wanted? I Guess So

Help wanted.
Apply with in.
– Sign seen at entrance to fast-food joint

It made me stop and think, I can tell you that.

I admit that in can be trepid, telligent, genious, quiring, and cisive: all desirable traits on the job and, presumably, when applying for same.

On the other hand, in can be ane, sipid, and dolent from time to time: not the image I want to project at all.

In is also a little unpredictable: troverted and hibited sometimes, but sistent to the point of sulting at others. Maybe in’s sleeping habits are to blame: I’ve heard it’s a somniac.

Besides that, in is such a tricky helper. You’d think its pairing with competent, sensitive, curious, and decent would be a good thing, yet somehow those combinations are less than spiring.

And it’s not as if there aren’t alternatives to in: out, for one.

You might say that out can be too spoken, even to the point of being rageous or landish, and I can’t argue with that. Maybe it’s a consequence of being so going.

But I’ve observed that out can help folks class and perform the competition (or even just last them): to achieve put that is standing, even when numbered, flanked, or right gunned.

And although care is needed to control any bursts, out’s ability to wit and think most people is worth the extra supervisory effort, or so I find.

Short, then, I usually don’t apply with in: stead, I prefer to go with out.

This is post #818. Gotta love these palindromes.







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10 Responses to Help Wanted? I Guess So

  1. Eric Hrycyk says:

    I found this dissertation to be credible.

  2. Tom Watson says:

    That was quite an standing, telligent, piece.

  3. Jim Robertson says:

    How on earth do you come up with these sightful dissertations? Your skill is amazing/scarey.

  4. I warned you about this kind of thing!!

    • Isabel Gibson says:

      Barbara – I believe the record will bear me that you warned me against posts with intentional spelling errors. Requiring the reader to complete the word with the missing syllable is nothing like that.

  5. Jim Taylor says:

    How I met my wife
    by Jack Winter
    Published 25 July 1994 – The New Yorker
    It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.
    I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.
    I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I’d have to make bones about it since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn’t be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.
    Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.
    So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads and tails of.
    I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen. Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated — as if this were something I was great shakes at — and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.
    Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d’oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.
    She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. “What a perfect nomer,” I said, advertently. The conversation become more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

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